Rating: To quote Kelley Armstrong, this story "is intended for mature readers. If it was a movie, it'd have warnings for coarse language, sexual content, violence...and maybe a few more."

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Chapter 4

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"And who might you be?" I asked as politely as I could. I wanted to calm her down before Sean woke up. Suddenly just waking him up and explaining Savannah needed his help didn't seem like the smartest of plans.

"Could we please shut up?" a voice muttered from the bed.

Both of us turned to face the lump, which had buried its head under a pillow. The movement of his arms exposed two more tattoos down either side and one around his arm. And I had to stop doing that. It was fortunate for me that Sean didn't seem to want to wake up. Maybe I could still slip away...I couldn't blame him for trying to ignore this. I didn't want to deal with this and my life might depend on it.

"Gillian," Savannah said frantically, "You need to get out of here."

"Who the hell is she?" The woman punctuated each word with a vicious point. Her towel started to slip. I politely averted my eyes and tried to regain control of my vocal chords so I could tell them I was just going to be going.

"Gillian. Get out."

"Monica, shut up," Sean said from under the pillow.

"There is a strange woman in the bedroom. I want to know why! Now, Bryce!"

"Gillian!"

Oops. The man who groggily pulled his head out from under the pillow was not Sean Nast. Not that I was such good friends with the man, but Savannah had shown me a few pictures. The blonde man, while resembling Sean, was clearly not him. Not at all. It was Bryce. The half-brother Savannah did not talk about because he refused to acknowledge her existence, except to insult her. The second son. The one who might just have me killed for trespassing. Now that he was on his back, blonde hair sticking up everywhere, he was studying me like I was sort of some subspecies. I almost turned around and gave up right then. Only I couldn't move, I was so stunned. I was too tired to handle being surprised.

He looked at me, frozen in place, with his bright blue eyes and said matter-of-factly, "That's Belinda."

"Who the hell is Belinda?"

"My girlfriend. Remember?" His head now lazily lay on top of the pillow. His eyes didn't leave me, ignoring Monica entirely. There was no way he didn't realize I was a witch. But he kept my gaze and smirked.

"What the hell? Bastard," Savannah muttered. "He better treat you like crap. And he sure as hell better not be checking you out."

I ignored Savannah in favour of the drama happening in front of me. Monica was not taking Bryce's declaration well.

"Your girlfriend?" Monica stormed into the room properly, clutching the towel desperately. Her face was a lot less attractive now that it was turning bright red. She stopped in front of the bed. "You have a girlfriend?"

"I didn't tell you?"

"No!"

"I could have sworn I had." He shrugged at both of us. "Oops."

Savannah wondered, "What the hell is he up to?"

It seemed pretty obvious to me, which said something about my relationship with lying. I did what seemed like the smartest thing. I played along.

"Monica, was it?" I put my hands on my hips and gave her a cold once over. Sure she was a supermodel and I had just gone through hell, but I was a pretty good actress when I thought my life might depend on it. "Not very impressive, is she?"

"What the hell—shit. I still think you should just leave," Savannah pointed out. She wasn't the one who was ten minutes away from collapsing. I was going to bluff until I got a bed to sleep in.

"You better have a good explanation for this, Bryce," I snapped, his name flowing awkwardly out of my mouth. But I figured since I was the imaginary girlfriend, I should use it. Maybe I should have used sweetheart instead? Even in a fog of exhaustion I could pick up on the fact he wasn't the sweetheart type.

Monica made a little hissing sound. "I'm sorry," Bryce said, slowly climbing out of bed. He wrapped the sheet carelessly around his waist. But to Monica's surprise, he was approaching me. "She was just a little bit of fun."

He stopped directly in front of me and I had to crane my head up to look him in the eye. He had over a foot on me. He was uncomfortably close, bare chest inches from me face. I couldn't help but notice his chest lacked black ink. It would have been easier to look down, break eye contact, but he was a Nast and I had some standards—plus Savannah would kill me if I checked out the evil half-brother. Over to the side I could make out Monica, stunned into silence.

"It won't happen again." Despite how tired I was, I enjoyed the look of complete outrage on Monica's face. It wasn't very often that I had women like that jealous about me.

Still playing the part, I pulled away from him, walking further into the bedroom. My voice trembled, from exhaustion and fear, but it played perfectly into the scene. "Just get her out of here. Then we'll talk."

I didn't turn around but I heard him promise, "Anything you want."

"What?"

Monica sounded less than happy.

"You heard her. Get lost."

"But—"

"Now." I shivered and had to actively resist the urge to follow a command that wasn't even directed at me. The Cabals definitely taught classes on how to order the minions around.

"I have got to learn how to do that," Savannah said.

Monica shouted something insulting. Bryce didn't reply. I heard the woman snatching up her clothes. The towel got thrown somewhere. It sounded like Bryce's face.

"You're such a prick. I'm glad I only slept with you for your money!"

Savannah burst out laughing. "Ouch."

The door slammed. I finally turned around. Bryce stood in the doorway, sheet slowly sliding down his hips to reveal just a little bit more ink, leaning against the doorframe and looking bored. "Like I've never heard that one before. A little originality is all I ask." He walked around to a chair on the other side of the bed where a pair of pants lay. He picked them up and I quickly turned my back.

"He could have just asked you to leave the room. And you so better not be blushing. He's evil, remember?"

"Shut up," I told Savannah. I had figured all of that out myself. I could hear the fabric rustling as he asked, "So who are you?"

"Gillian MacArthur," I told the wall.

"And—that actually sounds familiar. Did we...?"

"No," I said sharply. More sharply than I probably should have, considering he hadn't thrown me out yet.

"Pig," Savannah contributed.

"An overly sensitive witch. Surprise. Did I turn you down or something?"

I snorted. The Cabal rumour mill was always churning and Bryce Nast managed to help it along most of the time. I knew maybe two things about him. He had been exiled to the other side of the country by his grandfather, banished to New York for reasons unknown. And once in the Big Apple, he had proceeded to sleep with half the city. "Have you ever turned down sex?"

"Twice." He thought for a moment. "Once."

Savannah was spitting mad in my head. "Is his problem with me that he can't sleep with me? Because clearly the witch thing isn't as big a deal as he said."

"Killing his father might have something to do with it," I thought. Savannah went silent. It was a low blow, but a valid point. No one knew how Kristof Nast died. But most people, including Savannah herself, suspected she had something to do with it. The only problem was no one could say for sure. That's where the suspicion and the anger and the hate came in.

The sounds of dressing ceased and I turned around. He was sitting in the chair regarding me wearily. He looked nothing like his half-sister. Even the blue eyes they shared were different shades. I just hoped he didn't share her enormous power either.

The silence stretched out. He raised an eyebrow. "So why are you here, Gillian MacArthur?"

I couldn't tell the truth. I didn't know enough about Bryce—though what I heard wasn't exactly flattering—to risk trusting him. Especially when it came to Savannah. I tried to play my presence off as best I could, considering I hadn't slept in forever and nightmares kept flittering across my eyes.

"I'm Sean's girlfriend. He asked me to come by to water plants and stuff."

"Gillian, bad idea," Savannah said. "At least make your lies plausible."

"I'm open to suggestions," I snapped in my head.

He stood up, unpleasant smile in place, and walked until he was looming over me. An easy intimidation tactic if there ever was one, but that didn't mean it didn't work. "Try again."

I licked my lips, hoping for inspiration. Did he just not believe me or did he know for sure I was lying? Did Sean already have a girlfriend? I couldn't remember. Damn. Savannah said nothing. Mostly to bide time until I could come up with a reasonable excuse I asked: "What?"

"My brother wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. You're not his girlfriend. So I repeat, witch, what are you doing here?"

"Just because you can't see beyond you're stupid racial prejudices doesn't mean—"

"Shut up." He was way too close for comfort now. He wasn't a big guy—okay, he probably had a hundred pounds on me and he definitely didn't lack muscle definition. He was a more powerful spellcaster, too, even if I hadn't been too weak for even the most basic of spells. Basically, I was pretty much screwed if he wanted to hurt me. He didn't attack, though, just kept talking. "That's not—just stop lying, okay? It's ridiculously early, Monica was a shitty lay, and I just want to take a shower. So why are you here?"

The lies spilled out before I even considered them.

"I'm Savannah's friend. I needed a place to crash and she said Sean wouldn't mind putting me up for a night or two. She didn't tell me anyone else was going to be here. I'm sorry. I'll leave."

Bryce backed off. "The she-devil sent you?"

"Savannah," I corrected. He rolled his eyes. He could. He didn't have Savannah saying rather unflattering things about him in his head.

Bryce scratched his head, slowly. "Right. So that poses a problem. I can't let you stay here and then tell her about how nice I was to you. That doesn't work for me at all." He thought for a moment. "You do look like hell. You might not make it out of the building without collapsing and that doesn't work for me either. Too much attention. All right, I'll tell you what. You can have the bed for proper compensation."

I stared at him, unbelieving. "Seriously? I have had a really horrible day—night—life—whatever. So if you want me to get you off, it can wait until after I've taken a nap."

There was supposed to be an emphasizing foot stomp at the end, but when I moved my foot I ended up swaying on the spot. Savannah cried out ineffectively and I ended up half on the bed, trying to support myself. Bryce hadn't moved an inch.

"Relax, kid. It's just business, nothing personal." He chuckled and it wasn't at all friendly. "And statutory rape has never really been my thing."

"I'm twenty-one." Or I would be, in a few months. Anyway, it was what my ID said. Why did everyone always think I looked twelve?

"Desperate much?" Savannah scolded. "Seriously, Gillian, I thought you said you were over the whole jerk thing?"

Savannah had a good reason to doubt my taste in men, but though her brother was most definitely my type, since he was already treating me like crap, he was also a Nast. And while I could sink pretty low if the situation warranted, I knew enough to stay well away from the Nasts.

Bryce surveyed me slowly then shook his head. "Still, ten-year old boys aren't really my thing. No offence."

The urge to cross my arms over my admittedly small breasts was carefully squashed. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He was a sorcerer—poor manners was all you could expect. Savannah began raging all over again, talking about sexists pigs and cursing sorcerers in general. I was seconds away from passing out and didn't have time for this crap. "How about I won't tell Belinda about the whore and we'll call it even, okay?"

He snorted. Savannah belatedly informed me—what the hell good was she if she always said things too late?—that Belinda had been the name of Kristof's wife.

"Belinda probably doesn't know I'm old enough to have sex—no way in hell she cares with who," Bryce said cheerfully.

"That's sick. Naming your pretend girlfriend after your mother is just wrong."

"I didn't exactly have time to look through a book of baby names."

"At least it worked." I found myself smiling, against my will, remembering Monica's face. "It was efficient, whatever else it was."

"Thanks. Can we return to the matter of compensation, please? Before you pass out, preferably."

"What could I possibly have that you want?" I demanded.

Savannah hissed in my head: "Don't say things like that! That's just—god, Gillian, think before you talk."

It may have sounded a little more desperate than I would like, but I was tired. I had left my house with absolutely nothing except for the bag on my back. And all of that stuff was essential. Unless her brother wanted one of my shirts, which would actually make no sense because he really was twice my size.

He must have seen my panic because he dropped it. For now. "You owe me," he said slowly. "We'll talk about it when you're not about to pass out. I'm taking my shower. You...do whatever you want. I'm sure my brother would be thrilled to let a strange witch room with him."

"I don't plan to stay long. Just until my head stops pounding," I explained. Savannah was screaming something about never owing a Cabal. I knew that. I knew what I was doing was stupid. But there was only so far I could push my body. Besides, Savannah could always force Sean to force his brother to leave me alone. I hoped.

"There's the bed if you want; clean sheets in the closet, I think. Or the couch. Help yourself."

"Thank you."

He walked into the washroom without another word.

"Not fair. He was practically almost civil. He's never that nice to me," she whined. I ignored her, focusing on stripping the linen off the bed. "Hey! You can't go to sleep."

"I'm exhausted, I'm traumatized and I just came face to face with the dreaded half-brother who could still change his mind and have me killed. So you know what? Give me a break."

And with that I snatched a clean sheet from the closet, wrapped it around me and, fully dressed, collapsed onto the bed. I was asleep before she could respond.

...

When I woke up I quickly realized I should have arranged the sheet a little bit better. It had gotten bunched up underneath me as I slept and it was currently pressing into my ribs. I rolled off it and fell right off the bed in an ungraceful heap, wrapped up tightly. With a sigh I fought my way clear of the sheets and tried to clear my head.

I felt a lot better. My headache was gone and I didn't think I was going to retch right that second. I was a little bruised and a little achy, but I was used to having muscles that were constantly groaning in pain. I could survive that.

"It's about fucking time," Savannah moaned. I had forgotten about her—it suddenly occurred to me why my spellcasting ability hadn't returned. I had never kept a communication spell up this long. It was usually used for quick messages, not hour long pestering. Savannah hadn't gotten the memo.

She continued to talk as I stretched. "The way I see it you have three choices: a) go out there and talk to the evil half-brother, b) stay on the floor, or c) sneak out and find some a necromancer in the yellow pages and hope Bryce never tries to collect on whatever favour he thinks you owe him. Now, personally, I'm all for option c), but we have one vote for option a), which means you're the tie-breaker."

"B," I said, closing my eyes. That was the bad idea. I saw the bloody heart again. Rising quickly, I shook my head. "C. I can always call Jaime and make up something plausible."

"Yeah, you might not want to boast about your ability to lie quite so much."

"Right now you're just a voice in my head," I said. "You might want to be nicer."

Savannah went silent. Giving me the finger, no doubt.

Since we'd decided on option C I grabbed my duffel prepared to follow through. I opened the door a crack, to get the lay of the land before venturing out. The second I did music—or something masquerading as music—blared into the room. I opened the door a little more only to find Bryce looking directly at me.

He had put on a t-shirt with 'The Clash' scrawled across it and socks since I had last seen him and his hair was dry, which said something about how long I had been asleep. He was sitting on the bar, eating scrambled eggs off a room service tray garnished with fresh flowers, but he pulled the fork out of his mouth and saluted me with it when he saw me.

Savannah swore. "I guess we're going with option A."

"Took you long enough," he shouted over the music. "I thought you might have died on me."

"What?" I shouted, looking for the source. Just under the television there was a stereo system on full blast. He shrugged helplessly, refusing to turn it down and taking another bite of eggs. I asked my question, assuming he could hear it. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after three." He studied me intently. "Never seen someone sleep so late. What the hell happened to you?"

I ran my hands through my hair, fixing it. "What hasn't happened? Thanks for the mattress." Internally, I asked Savannah, "Do we really have to?"

"Kristof thinks it would be for the best. Nast resources and all that. Though I think it would be better if you don't mention me at all."

"I figured," I sighed. Speaking out loud I asked Bryce, "Does that whole compensation thing extend to anything I can think of? Or was it a onetime only kind of deal?"

"I thought we had decided against the propositioning one another." I glared but he knew what I meant. "I'm a businessman, apparently. Making deals is what I do. You want me to throw in something else, just remember you've got to offer me just that much more."

"Get me my necro and let's go," Savannah whined impatiently.

"Tell me what he wants," I demanded of her. She went silent, talking to her father about his youngest son. I stalled for time. Something had been bothering me and though it didn't really have any bearing on the situation it would buy time. "Shouldn't you have been afraid I was here to kill you or something?"

"Please," he snorted. "You wouldn't have announced your presence so obviously if you were a threat. And have you looked in a mirror lately? You're, what, ten pounds?"

Just over ninety and climbing, but he didn't need to know that. "I still could have been dangerous."

"My pinkie could take you."

It probably could. I didn't have even the faintest of hopes in taking him in a physical fight and the amount of offensive magic I knew was limited. Still, it hurt my pride to be so summarily dismissed. I was scrappier than I looked.

"It's that kind of arrogance that gets Cabal members killed."

He just laughed. "I don't think anyone's threatened me in years."

"That wasn't a threat. It was an observation. I'm not stupid enough to threaten you. Though clearly someone needs to start."

"Try being nicer, Gillian," Savannah chided. "He might actually help us if you just smile a little bit more."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to be hitting on him."

"You alright there, MacArthur?" It was then I realized that I might have said that out loud. I was still too tired. But Bryce appeared to be amused, not terrified in the slightest about the potential crazy person in his—his brother's—hotel room. "You forget your medication this morning?"

And suddenly I knew exactly how to get Bryce Nast to do exactly what I wanted. He tolerated me and not Savannah for one reason: I hadn't killed his father.

I gave my best terrified eyes—which I had loads of practise with. My mouth even started to tremble and I let myself sound like I was going to cry. "I really do think I might be going crazy here. There's this ghost that keeps talking to me—and I know, I'm a witch, not a necromancer and it's not possible. But really, even subconsciously, why the hell would I conjure up a Nast?" His eyes narrowed as an awful suspicion leapt into his mind. He dismissed it, but I could tell it wouldn't take much to convince him. We're always willing believe the things we wish for desperately .

I kept going. "I mean, it can't really be—I have to be crazy. Only it seems so real. I mean, why would I know your mother's name? Or think a Nast could help me, even subconsciously? It really has to be—but it can't. I'm going it. Next thing you know, I'm going to be making up stories from your past."

I sighed, like I really did think I was going crazy as I demanded said crazy childhood story from Savannah. Since I was practically telling the truth, what could it hurt? Savannah came back saying, "He totally disapproves of this, says you can't tell Bryce he's here. But...I think it's brilliant. Here, Sean told me this one..."

"You bit an old lady? What kind of five year old were you?" I demanded. Of all the things...

He froze, eggs half way to his mouth. Then he put the fork down as his eyes began frantically searching the air around me. "She was evil. And how the hell did you know that?"

I shrugged. "I told you, I'm going crazy. It's not even like I can see ghosts, just this one. It's really kind of creepy, because once upon a time I swore never to talk to anybody named Nast and now I'm surrounded by them."

And just like that, he believed me. He even lowered the music with a remote so we could talk better. "What did your ghost say?"

The lying came easily. "He said to come here and Sean would find me a necromancer that would help him figure out why I can see him."

Bryce looked just about ready to agree when a pained look shot across his face. "I'm going to have to ask for something in return."

"Do we have to go through that again?"

"I actually came up with something while you were asleep. He's not going to—it doesn't matter. All right, I'll get you the necromancer, forget about you sleeping over—"

I interrupted, "And someone might be trying to kill me. I'm not sure. I just thought you should know that. So I might need to be, just...watched for a little bit."

He looked annoyed but then pushed on. "Fine. I'll even throw in complete Nast protection. And all you have to do in return is come to dinner with me on Friday."

"With a ten-year-old boy? How inappropriate."

"Trust me, you aren't what I had in mind. But most witches are smart enough to avoid me. And this would be..." His eyes gleamed and I was suddenly very afraid. "It'll be perfect, if I bring you. I promise, you won't end up dead or sacrificed in anyway. No harm will come to you." I raised an eyebrow and he added, "I'll be the perfect gentle—" He started laughing, cracking himself up. "Fuck that. And I won't feel you up if you ask nicely."

"What does Kristof say?" I asked Savannah mentally. She came back quickly. "He doesn't see how it could hurt. Dinner can't kill you. We say go for it."

I almost sighed in relief. I didn't want to have to lie to Jaime Vegas—and I was good at making deals with the devil. Once Bryce found out I had tricked him into helping Savannah, I couldn't see him holding me to Friday. "Thanks. I was getting tired of listening to how much taller you'd gotten."

Bryce nodded and hopped off the counter, snatching up car keys. "Then I guess we have a deal. You want to head straight to the necro's?"

All my belongings were in the duffel, but he didn't need to know that. I did need my grimoires to help Savannah. And some more clothes, probably. Fixing her would take a while, I was sure. Nothing with Savannah was ever simple.

"I have some books at home I want." He agreed without protest, walking quickly to the door, me following behind.

"We need the address," Savannah said pointedly. "I have to walk."

I repeated her instructions and her brother rattled off some numbers.

"Thanks for this, Gillian," she said.

"You owe me," I told her, but it was an empty threat. I would never dare to collect. I followed Bryce out to the car. A road trip with a sorcerer. My life seemed to be developing themes.

Bryce whistled Oh Susannah! as we waited for the elevator and when that didn't appear to annoy me switched to the Addams Family Theme song, complete with snapping. I held my smile in. Savannah was still around. She wasn't a regular ghost. She needed to go down the elevator with us.

He did The Girl From Ipanema in the elevator. I grinned despite myself. He was daring me to join in, but I couldn't whistle at all so I let him continue alone. All the better to show off.

We must have looked a strange pair coming off the elevator, into the lobby. He towered over me, but the way he slouched eroded part of the height difference. I was wearing a sweater with holes in it and he didn't look much better. The jeans he was wearing were faded a ripped and with the concert tee he looked positively pedestrian. Meanwhile, the duffle bag almost made it seem like I was a child runaway. As long as they didn't stop him for kidnapping. Following along behind us, though no one could see, was Savannah, no doubt bruised from her fight the night before.

"Be careful," she warned as I got into the convertible. It was green and sleek and I felt like I should have been impressed by the company that made it, but I knew jack all about cars. I smiled at the concern in her voice.

"I'll call for help if he tries to kill me," I promised. "You better get going. You've got a long walk."

"Don't remind me."

We cut the communication spell, neither of us admitting that it was draining. Savannah would rather die than admit she couldn't do any spell as long as she wanted. But even Savannah had to have some weaknesses. Being pulled between two dimensions had to be a strain.

Bryce barely waited until I was in the car before pulling away. I tried to keep my hair from getting in my face, but it was difficult. He drove like a madman. Searching in my bag I pulled out a hair tie. I hated pulling my hair back—it was a lot easier to see how thin it was when it was all pulled together.

He put the radio on some classical station and drove and I stared out the window, trying not to think. The club was becoming a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else. Poor girl. My repression was interrupted by my companion.

"So you're friends with the she-devil?"

I rolled my eyes and looked over. "I've never met the woman. The only person I know that you might is Savannah Levine. I hear she's your sister."

"Half-sister. And not by choice."

"Did you have a conversation with your sister before you decided you hated her or did you just count to three after you heard she existed and then flipped a coin?"

"The very first time I heard I had a half-sister? My grandfather's telling me about how my father died and he mentions the mysterious reason I hadn't seen my Dad in a week is because he has some bastard living in Boson. Sorry I didn't immediately send flowers to the girl."

That shut up me up a little, but I really didn't like the Nasts. Even if I knew a little too much about them. "Your loyalty to the mother who hasn't talked to you since birth is astounding."

Bryce chuckled, mercilessly. "You can't miss someone you never knew. I don't care if my old man got lucky. I just hate bastards on principle. They create problems of succession, which in turn creates problem for business. Just look at the Cortez mess. That's not going to end well. The sooner Carlos takes over, the better."

"Yeah, support the sex-freak just because he's legitimate."

"Please. You think I don't know that Carlos is a fucking tool? But he's also a moron, which is sort of what you want the boss of your biggest competition to be. Lucas Cortez may hate the Cabals, but he's not stupid enough to try and run them into the ground either. Every night before I go to bed, I say a little prayer that Carlos's next stupid hare-brained scheme succeeds, just so my life is a little easier."

The fact that I even remotely thought what he was saying made sense sort of scared me. So much so I let myself mumble some sort of meaningless reply and didn't say anything the rest of the trip. Bryce didn't seem to mind, just turned the radio to some sort of heavy metal station and began to sing along.

Eventually he pulled into the scum neighbourhood that was my home. I doubted he had ever been to this part of L.A. before. Why would he want to? I lived there and would rather be anywhere else. He pulled up in the driveway and parked the car.

"Don't be long. I don't want to catch anything," he drawled.

"No wonder you have to resort to hookers," I said just as pleasantly.

I ignored his response as I walked into the house. No one would be around—Tia should have left early that morning. I walked into the kitchen, which is where I first smelt something off. The smell of my mess last night was still in the air, but there was something else not quite right...

I made my way through the kitchen, not making a sound. Goosebumps ran up and down my body. There was something wrong here. I cast my sensing spell. I didn't pick up anyone in the house. That's when I heard the floor creak upstairs.

I cast the sensing spell again. It was a low energy spell and had always been one of my more reliable spells. The spell was working. There were no humans around. But something was moving upstairs.

It's the rats, I finally remembered. I had more important things to do than worry about the rats. From the kitchen I picked up a carving knife, the one I never used being too economical to buy something as expensive as meat. I slipped into the closet, moving aside shoes as I went. There was a ridiculously large number of them. Eight girls meant we had a lot of shoes.

When the shoes were moved, I slipped the knife between the floorboards. That was the one good thing about living in such as old house. There were plenty of places to hide things you didn't want found.

Sitting exactly where I had left it was a wad of cash and my grimoires. There was one more object—a letter, apologizing for the unforgivable, insisting my best interests had been at heart—but I did my best to ignore it. I only kept it around because it wasn't the type of thing you were allowed to throw out. One letter couldn't make up for thirteen years of wanting me to disappear.

I snatched up the blood money because I wasn't going to be in the debt of a Nast if I could help it. The money disappeared into my bra and I quickly loaded the books into my bag. I closed the floorboard back up, hiding any traces of my presence in the closet.

I stood up and began heading for the stairs, eager to grab some more clothes and not thinking about picking out something just a little bit nicer. Because I was supposed to be more well adjusted than that.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I found I couldn't move the rest of the way up. Because the grey faded carpet that lined the carpet had brand new brown stains on it. I almost retched right there. Then I spun around and ran out, making it only to the porch before the contents of my empty stomach came tumbling out.

I couldn't be sure Tia was...Tia was...but I was. I knew what blood looked like, all too well now. There were sounds coming from the house and I rushed down the steps.

"Are you—what happened?" Bryce half rose out of the car, but I waved him back.

"We need to leave." When he didn't move, I snapped: "Now!"

Bryce looked at me like I was crazy, but began reversing. And then there he was. Standing on my porch without a hair out of place, he flashed a brilliantly white smile and then walked right through the rickety porch of my house, running straight for me.

Ken.